The Serial Killer's Wife by Alice Hunter (best romantic novels to read .txt) 📗

to face me, her expression softening. ‘Or perhaps reduced hours instead? I don’t want your hard work building this place up to go to waste.’

‘Oh, Lucy. You’re such a star. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.’

‘I’m sorry for being a grump. What with the Tom thing, then the police asking Oscar all sorts, it’s set me on edge. I know any other time I’d be fine with working here on my own, it’s just—’

‘No, Lucy. You shouldn’t have to.’ Her mentioning Oscar reminds me about the car Tom apparently borrowed – I need to try and contact Jimmy, his mate from the bank. He should be back tomorrow. ‘I’m wrong to put that on you – increasing your responsibilities at such a challenging time. It’s not like I’ve just left you to it while I go on holiday, is it?’

‘Nope. It really isn’t,’ Lucy says, her blue eyes watery. ‘I know it’s not easy for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I heard someone saying just now that there were journalists hanging around the nursery. Poor Poppy – she must wonder what’s going on.’

‘Yes, it’s awful. I’m managing to keep her fairly sheltered from it all, I think, at the moment. Although I have literally just been spat on by someone in a passing car.’

‘No! Oh, Beth – I hope you’re going to report that to the police?’

‘I don’t think I can face seeing them,’ I say. ‘Plus, I have a bad feeling there’ll be more where that came from. I’m going to be a target, aren’t I? For people’s hate.’

Lucy looks away. She doesn’t need to respond.

After the silence has stretched for too long, she asks me a question. ‘When will this all die down?’

I desperately want to tell her soon. I want to say ‘it’ll get better’. But I don’t want to lie any more than I have already. All I can do is shrug.

Back at the table, I dish out the drinks and some banana bread, which the girls immediately begin devouring.

‘Wow! Jess – it’s as though I’ve never fed you,’ Adam says. Then he looks me in the eye and my insides shake. ‘So? You want to come clean?’

I gulp down a mouthful of hot chocolate, then look around me at the customers sitting at three other tables. One is a table of two women; both are engrossed in painting plates. The others are also couples, sitting and chatting over a coffee. They could easily overhear me talking.

‘I will. But not here. Somewhere more private,’ I say in hushed tones. Adam looks disappointed. He must think I’m chickening out.

Maybe I am.

‘After we’ve had these, why don’t you come back to mine?’ he says. ‘The girls can play and we can chat.’

I draw in a long, slow breath, then release it just as slowly. I sound like I’m breathing through labour pains. The comparison comes close in this scenario.

‘If you’re sure,’ I say. My initial bravado, and my desire to confess, is diminishing with each passing moment. By the time I get to Adam’s I will probably have bottled it altogether.

Chapter 63

BETH

Now

Back at Adam’s, the girls rush up to Jess’s bedroom and I hear the thuds, thumps and clatter of toys being strewn all over the floor. Adam follows them up to check on them while I stand and wait, nervously, in the kitchen. It’s neat and minimalist; Camilla’s touches are evident in some of the accessories. I eye the expensive, top-of-the-range food mixer and remember the conversations about baking we’d had, and how Camilla had enjoyed coming up with new nut-free recipes. One of the last times I’d seen her we were talking about cookies. What a shame that’s all we’d ever really spoken about.

On the upright fridge-freezer, I note the photos of the three of them – happy family snaps. Moments captured for eternity. I hadn’t had the chance to absorb the smaller things last time I was here. Being on my own for a few minutes enables me to really take everything in.

‘Right, they’re happy,’ Adam says as he bounds back into the kitchen like an excitable dog. ‘Lounge would be more comfortable to chat in.’ He leads me out of the kitchen and into the room opposite. I sit hesitantly on the beige upholstered three-seater sofa, its large cushions enveloping me. Now I’m here, I’ve lost my gumption. I wish the damn cushions would consume me, so I could disappear and forget everything.

‘I know we’ve just had a drink, but can I get you another?’ He tries to catch my eye. ‘Or do you need something stronger for this conversation?’

I give an awkward laugh. ‘No, I’m fine. Thanks.’

‘I’m all ears, then,’ he coaxes.

I wring my hands together; try to swallow. My throat is dry, the texture of sandpaper. ‘Actually, I will have a water, please.’

Adam smiles sympathetically and leaves the lounge, returning with a tumbler of iced water.

‘Thanks. This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.’

‘Difficult subjects rarely are when it comes down to it, Beth.’

I sip the water. The only sound is the ice cubes clinking against my teeth as I tilt the glass. The room has a stillness that reminds me of horror films – the creepy atmosphere prior to a shock reveal. Apt.

I’ve gone over this moment a lot. The pros and cons of what I’m about to disclose, listed and edited, added to or deleted, depending on what I think the effects will be. The desired outcomes. I need to be careful, or the only outcome I’ll get is to be ostracised. By Adam; by the community.

Think of Poppy’s future.

She’s what matters.

Of course, her future is dependent on safeguarding my own, though.

‘I haven’t been entirely honest with you – with anyone. Not even Julia. Probably not even myself,’ I say, my words rushing over themselves like water babbling over rocks in a river.

Slow down.

Adam doesn’t say anything, so I carry on. ‘About Tom.’ I leave a gap here. I’m still